


Mea Maxima Culpa

by Mickey_McKeown



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:29:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mickey_McKeown/pseuds/Mickey_McKeown
Summary: Red and Ressler snarking at each other, bit of Ressler whump, and Reddington has a heart. Sort of.





	Mea Maxima Culpa

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for this fandom. Originally posted on Tumblr. My rustiest and most inelegant writing, so caveat lector, but I hope it will suffice. Constructive criticism is most welcome.

Raymond Reddington was not happy. No, that was an understatement. He was incandescent. That the object of his fury was stubbornly ignorant of his transgression only stoked his rage. 

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, Donald?” he snapped. The FBI agent didn’t turn to face him, walking away from the meeting place where now lay the corpses of Reddington’s contacts. “Just like Garrick, using a gun in place of your brain.”

It was likely the comparison to Garrick that caused Ressler to finally turn back towards the criminal, the frown that was his customary expression when dealing with Red deepening. 

“In case it escaped your notice, Reddington, I saved your life back there,” he pointed out. “I didn’t expect any particular gratitude, but maybe some silence would be nice.”

“Gratitude, Donald?” Red’s voice held incredulity; his tone made Ressler’s name sound like the worst curse he could conjure up. “For what exactly? For once again blundering into a precise operation like a bull in a china shop and destroying any chance we may have had of catching up to Mr O’Reilly before he leaves the country?”

Ressler stepped forward into Reddington’s personal space. “Your man in there was going to shoot you. It wasn’t just to intimidate us, he was trying to kill you.” He locked eyes with his old adversary. “Seems to me like O’Reilly knew what you were doing there.”

Red rolled his eyes. “Donald, you really are a blunt instrument. Perfectly useful for kicking in doors and shooting your quarry, but no aptitude whatsoever for business or diplomacy.”

“That may be,” Ressler returned, not allowing himself to be goaded. “But I know a threat when I see one. And as much as I’d love to stand here arguing with you, we need to get back to the black site to explain to Cooper why we’ve lost O’Reilly.”

He marched away, heading for the car with Reddington’s sharp gaze boring into his back. After an appraising pause, Red followed at a more sedate stroll. Reaching the large vehicle, Red took his time to settle himself in the front passenger seat. He glanced sideways, enjoying the hint of irritation in Ressler’s expression. 

“In such a hurry to relay your failure to your boss, Donald?” he mocked.

Ressler made a noise of frustration and turned towards the criminal. “Reddington, I swear, if you don’t shut up…”

Red’s attention, however, was not on the FBI agent’s words. As he had shifted in his seat, Ressler’s suit jacket had been displaced, allowing Reddington to see clearly what had previously been hidden from his typically all-seeing eyes. 

“Donald, you’ve been shot.” His voice was quiet as he interrupted the younger man. There was a tinge of something in his tone - remorse? guilt? apology?

Ressler’s eyebrows drew together in confusion and he looked down to where Red’s gaze was now fixed. Sure enough, an expanding red stain covered the side of his shirt. Almost in wonder, he touched a hand to the small hole at the centre of the stain.

“I didn’t…” he trailed off, bewildered. “I didn’t notice.”

Reddington shook off his momentary shock and busied himself with removing his jacket, folding it into a square and pressing it to Ressler’s side. 

“Hold that there,” he ordered. 

Ressler complied. The adrenaline from the brief firefight that had prevented him from feeling the pain of the wound had begun to dissipate and left him feeling weak and cold. Red had got out of the car and Ressler could vaguely hear him telling one of the agents to get an ambulance. Moments later, he opened the driver’s side door of the car, adding his own hands to the makeshift pressure dressing that Ressler was weakly holding against the bullet wound. 

“We’ve been here before, Donald,” Red chided gently. “You need to keep pressure on it.”

Ressler let out a brief laugh, then groaned as it sent a shockwave of pain through his gut. 

“Going to give me more of your blood?” he returned, turning his head to meet the criminal’s eyes.

“As tempting as it sounds, I save the finest for truly dire situations.” Red’s lips turned up in a brief smirk. He patted Ressler’s shoulder in a surprisingly comforting gesture. “As it is, we’ll have you on your way to the hospital in no time.”

On cue, the ambulance pulled up behind the car and two paramedics ran towards the injured FBI agent. Reddington stepped back to allow them to tend to their charge but kept his eyes locked with Ressler’s, offering silent reassurance, until the doors to the ambulance closed and broke their connection.

xxx

Three o’clock in the morning found Raymond Reddington sitting by the bedside of his least favourite FBI agent. That description had lessened somewhat during their forced acquaintance, however, and he now allowed himself to acknowledge the modicum of fondness that had developed towards Ressler. The man was obstinate, certainly, and dull, but he was also loyal and principled to a fault. He had saved Red’s life at the meeting; a fact which Red had reluctantly accepted upon further reflection of events. 

His gaze was pulled to Ressler’s face as he stirred and blinked open his eyes. 

“Reddington?”

Red plastered on his most charming smile. “Who else, Donald?”

Ressler sighed and closed his eyes. “Please let this just be a nightmare.”

“Why, Donald, I’m offended,” Reddington protested with a grin. “I never knew you could be so cruel.”

“What are you doing here, Reddington?” Ressler sighed. He shifted in the bed and winced as the movement pulled at the wound. “If you want to continue our argument, I’ll admit defeat if you go away and leave me in peace.”

Red’s smile disappeared, replaced with an expression that was as close as the criminal ever got to contrition. “Quite the contrary, my friend. I simply wanted to see that you were on the mend and to apologise.”

Ressler blinked in surprise. “Apologise? What?”

“You were right.” Red bowed his head slightly. “I made a mistake. Mea maxima culpa.”

“If you need confession, you’d better go to a priest,” Ressler replied dryly.

Red laughed brightly. “Oh, Donald, I would be saying Hail Marys for the rest of my life!” He noticed the agents eyes closing, sleep claiming him again. Laying a hand on his arm, Red smiled. “Thank you, my friend.”


End file.
